


Sunlight fills the Tombs

by fandomlver



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gold Sickness, Injury, Thorin is crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The confrontation between Thorin and Bilbo in the treasure halls takes a different turn. From a kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

and he’s falling, flailing, reaching desperately for a handhold and finding none, hitting and twisting, crying out as he hits edges of sharp stone that cut him and flat slabs that bruise and break him. Thorin might be shouting, or he might not be; Bilbo can’t hear him over the sounds of his own fall.

White hot pain blazes behind his eyes as he hits bottom, sinking into the pile of treasure there. Bilbo can’t even scream through the pain; only hang on, breathing shallowly, trying to ride out the pain.

He opens his eyes, and at first he can’t understand what he’s looking at. That’s his leg, he can see it, see the trousers, but he can’t understand what the white thing is, poking into it, streaked with red. He reaches a trembling hand for it, but the slightest touch causes a flare of pain so sharp he screams until he can’t breathe. When he drops into whimpers he hears the gold shifting, recognizes the sound as Smaug moving, and looks back up the steps in desperation. Surely, whatever is wrong in Thorin’s mind, he won’t leave…

He catches the barest glimpse of Thorin’s back and braids vanishing through the doorway, and he’s still staring in disbelief when Smaug rounds the nearest pillar and sees him.

“Well, little barrel-rider,” he purrs. The gold around Bilbo resonates at the sound, and Bilbo swallows a groan as he moves involuntarily. “And what has happened to you, hmm?”

“Slipped,” Bilbo breathes. If he doesn’t move, the pain is almost manageable.

“Slipped?” Smaug echoes. “Or pushed? After all, you have served your purpose. Did Thorin Oakenshield cast you aside when he had no further use for you?”

“Slipped,” Bilbo insists, trying not to show how much Smaug’s words bother him. Thorin hadn’t actually pushed him, but hadn’t he caused the fall? Or had he? Bilbo can’t quite remember now, events blurring with fear and pain.

A Dwarf shouts from one of the high balconies, and Smaug twists around on himself to look. Bilbo can’t see anything; the balcony is above and behind the stairs from where he’s lying. Smaug snarls, looking back. “Don’t go away, little barrel-rider,” he says, voice low. “I’ll be back soon. Then we’ll play.”

He launches out of the pile of gold and Bilbo shrieks as it shifts, sending him down the sudden slope and half-burying him. The bone in his leg catches on something and he howls again, but the sound is buried under the tinkling of the treasure around him.

He lies there for a long time, half-conscious, drifting. The treasure is digging into him painfully, but his leg doesn’t hurt right now, and he’s willing to endure a thousand smaller hurts to avoid that white hot pain again. The longer he lies there, though, the more the pain returns, and eventually he can’t bear it any longer. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and shifts.

The pain flares, crests, and after a minute or so begins to die away. Bilbo grits his teeth and moves again.

It’s slow, extremely painful work, and he doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. But eventually he finds a wall and begins to follow it. He has to stop to rest every so often, and it’s increasingly hard to catch his breath; he doesn’t feel any real pain there, though, so he doesn’t think anything else is broken.

He finds the spot by accident, a tiny recess in the wall, almost buried behind a pile of gold coins. It’s small for a dwarf, impossible for a man or elf, unthinkable for Smaug; but it’s just about right for Bilbo, and he’s able to extend his leg and straighten it to take some of the pressure off. Just that movement almost makes him white out again, and it’s a long time before the pain settles this time.

There are voices, when Bilbo becomes aware again; not particularly close, but the room is designed to carry sound. He can’t make out the words, really – just an occasional ones – but even just hearing the voices is a comfort. He lies, listening to them, absently ticking them off the list in his mind. Balin – Fíli – Bofur – Ori, maybe, it’s a lot quieter than the others – Balin again – Dwalin – Kíli – Gloin – Dori, and Nori protesting – Bifur, and Bombur a moment later – and Oin. Bilbo relaxes a little. Smaug clearly hasn’t hurt them.

And then he hears Thorin, voice unmistakable, and tenses up involuntarily. He has to gasp in a breath, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Everything has stiffened as he lay drowsing and movement is agony.

Thorin's too close. Bilbo reaches for his pocket, ignoring the pain; he finds the Ring by feel and slips it on. The world shifts into shadow and he watches as Thorin wanders past his hiding spot. 

Once Bilbo has the Ring on he doesn't feel safe taking it off, so he lies there and listens as the Company come in and out of the room. They're looking for something, he gathers; not him, though, because they keep referring to 'it' as they pass by. Whatever 'it' is, it must be terribly important.

There's no sign or sound of Smaug, and the Dwarves don't seem concerned. Bilbo's not sure what to think about that.

He drifts and dozes and wakes with a start that sends coins and jewels tumbling down the pile he's hiding behind. The sound wakes him fully and he holds still, listening intently.

"I'm sure I heard something."

Fíli. Bilbo closes his eyes, praying softly.

"You heard a rat," Kíli says from somewhere a little further away.

"A rat in Smaug's lair? I think not. No, it was up here." Fíli crests the pile and looks around; his foot is inches from Bilbo's hand. If he moves in any direction but backwards, he'll kick Bilbo.

He moves sideways.

Bilbo's wail of pain, thin and breathless as it is, is mostly buried under Fíli's cry of surprise, though one or the other brings Kíli up to join them. Fíli backs off a step before kneeling, holding up a hand to warn Kíli. "It's Bilbo. Be careful, he's injured."

Kíli holds up a handful of gold, stained bright red. Fíli reaches out carefully, leaning forward; his hand brushes against Bilbo's arm and he traces it down to his hand, fingers light to keep from pressing against injuries he can't see. Bilbo closes his fist as tight as he can, but Fíli easily pries his fingers open and slides his Ring off.

"Bilbo," Kíli breathes.

"Fetch Thorin and Oin," Fíli orders him sharply.

Bilbo immediately begins to thrash as best he can. It sends flares of pain through his body, but the brothers both turn to him at least. "No, no, no, no, no..."

"Bilbo!" Fíli catches at his shoulders, holding him down; Kíli steadies his good leg. He can't move the bad one anyway. "Bilbo, stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Bilbo almost chokes on the disbelieving laugh that bubbles up. "No Thorin," he orders when he can breathe again. "No Oin. No one. Leave me."

"We can't leave you alone, you're injured." Kíli lets go of his leg; Bilbo immediately kicks out again to make him hold on.

Fíli is studying his injuries with a frown. "Bilbo, this...a fall? Thorin said Smaug had you. What happened?"

"Thorin," Bilbo spits. He hasn't the air for more, but Fíli's eyes have widened in horrified understanding.

"A fall?" he repeats emphatically. Bilbo doesn't answer, but that seems to satisfy him. Briskly, he continues, "We can't deal with your leg ourselves, Bilbo; we _need_ Oin. Kíli, go find him, don't tell anyone else about Bilbo, and make it clear to Oin that he is not to say anything either."

"Why?" Kíli asks, bewildered. He lets go of Bilbo again, warily; this time Bilbo only lies still, too tired to keep fighting.

"Because Bilbo wants it so. Go, Kíli."

Kíli slides back down the pile of treasure and Fíli turns back to Bilbo, eyes very intent. "Bilbo, tell me truthfully. Did my uncle cause this?"

Bilbo squeezes his eyes closed, trying to think, trying to remember. "I tried to leave," he manages. "Thorin blocked me. His sword...I backed away, he followed, right to the edge..." He opens his eyes again. "I don't know that he meant it," he says, voice fading now. "But he caused it."

Fíli nods, eyes very dark. "I have no right to ask you anything," he murmurs. "But please, Bilbo, say nothing of this. I will make sure Thorin hears nothing; I will make sure you get everything you need, and when the time comes I'll help you face him, or leave, or whatever you choose to do. Only, for now, say nothing. There are things happening that I can't explain to you right now. Please?"

Bilbo's eyes flicker closed again. Fíli presses his shoulder gently. "Bilbo?"

"Yes, Master Dwarf," Bilbo mumbles, and Fíli seems content with that.

Oin and Kíli arrive. Bilbo is barely aware by now, can’t focus on Oin’s questions. Fíli helps the older dwarf in silence; Kíli is chattering, nerves or worry making him even more vocal than normal. Bilbo wishes he’d stop, it’s really starting to hurt his head, but he can’t find the concentration to tell him so.

At some point, Fíli says his name over and over until he responds. “We have to set your leg,” he says quietly. “It’s going to hurt, badly.” He holds up a scrap of cloth and Bilbo lets him stuff it into his mouth, biting down on it. Fíli kneels behind him, holding down his shoulders and hands; Kíli’s practically lying across his stomach, pinning his good leg.

Oin grips the bad leg, gives him one sad look, and

Painwhitehotburningpainpainpain _painpainpain_ PAINPAINPAIN

and Bilbo passes out, body relaxing from its’ arch.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time he surfaces he drifts for a long time. His leg is throbbing, now, a steady beat in time with his heart, but that’s better than the burning pain he vaguely remembers. Someone has tended his other injuries, and the blood and grime has been cleaned from his skin. Someone’s in the room with him, but whoever it is is silent, so it can’t be Thorin.

Eventually Bilbo opens his eyes to discover Ori deeply absorbed in whatever it is he’s knitting. He’s hampered by the sling on one arm; he’s having to knit at an angle to allow for it.

Bilbo shifts and Ori glances up. He’s already looking away before he realizes Bilbo is actually awake. “Bilbo!”

“Ori,” Bilbo answers, voice hoarse. He hasn’t moved yet, almost afraid to try. “What’s going on?”

“Oin asked me to come and watch you.”

“Watch me,” Bilbo echoes. “Where is he?”

“He’s down below in the healing tents with Fíli.”

“Healing – what?”

Ori bites his lip suddenly. “Are you hungry, Bilbo, or thirsty? I’m supposed to make sure you have everything you need. Oin will be coming by later.”

“Ori…”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he blurts.

Bilbo closes his eyes. He’s just woken up, but he feels so tired. “Thorin?” he mumbles.

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” Ori says quietly. That’s enough for Bilbo, and he drifts back into sleep.

Kíli’s sitting by the bed next time he wakes. Something is wrong, and it takes Bilbo a moment to figure it out; Kíli’s hair has been hacked short, barely brushing the back of his neck. He’s focused on the dagger in his hands, sharpening the blade with slow, steady movements.

Bilbo shifts slightly, bracing against the pain he’s expecting, but it’s muted and distant now. Kíli glances up; he’s frowning, but it clears when he realizes Bilbo is awake. “Master Boggins.”

“Master Kíli,” Bilbo answers.

Kíli leans to the side and comes back with a cup. Bilbo needs some help to manage it, but he’s able to drink. “Slowly,” Kíli warns him. “It’s been some days.”

Bilbo restrains himself to a few sips, settling back down. “Days?” he repeats. “Can you tell me? Ori couldn’t.”

“He couldn’t,” Kíli agrees, looking away. “I made him promise.”

“Can you?” Bilbo repeats.

“Yes. I can tell you.”

Kíli’s voice is flat and toneless as he tells Bilbo about the War that apparently happened while Bilbo slept; the Men and Elves who marched on the Mountain to seek its’ treasure, the Orcs and Wargs and Goblins coming from Gundabad, and how all of them and Dain’s people met on the slopes outside Erebor. How Thorin and Fíli have been grievously injured, Kíli less so, and scores of hundreds of others killed or wounded; how Oin has been too busy to come back to check on Bilbo, so they’d sworn Ori to silence and deputised him. “We didn’t tell Thorin,” he says, eyes distant. “And he isn’t – he hasn’t heard us, since the battle.”

Bilbo wants to offer sympathy, but he can’t do it. All he can see when he thinks of Thorin is his back disappearing, leaving him to Smaug; he has to pat his stomach to persuade himself that there is no sword poking into him, accusing him. “The – thing? The Arkenstone?”

Kíli shakes his head. “We haven’t found it yet.” His eyes are troubled. “Bilbo – can you wait, a little, for your answers? You’ll get them, just – not yet. Not until we know if Thorin…”

He has to stop, to look away, and Bilbo is angry and hurt but not at Kíli, never at Kíli. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “Kíli, my leg…” It’s so heavy, now that he thinks about it, and still throbbing with his heart.

“Oin straightened it and bound it.” Kíli draws back the bedsheet – someone’s cloak, now that Bilbo looks more closely – to show him the ungainly splint. “We didn’t have much to use,” he adds apologetically. “He looked at it this morning, he thinks it will heal. Are – how well do Hobbits heal, from this kind of injury?”

Bilbo shakes his head. “Weeks, maybe months, if nothing goes wrong.”

Kíli nods, forcing a smile. “Well, it’s fortunate for you that you have Ori and myself to take care of you, then.”

“Kíli,” Bilbo says softly. “Go to your brother.”

For a moment Kíli looks very young; then he shakes it off. “He made an oath to you, he told me. I am here to fill it for him.”

“Bother the oath,” Bilbo mutters. “Who’s running Erebor?”

Kíli frowns thoughtfully. “…Balin?” he hazards eventually.

“Go to your brother,” Bilbo says more forcefully. “It’s what I want,” he adds across Kíli’s protest. “I just want to sleep, now.”

Finally Kíli nods, leaning in to touch his hand. “I will send Ori, as soon as I see him,” he promises. “I’d send others, but…”

“No. No one knows.”

“No one,” Kíli echoes.

Bilbo lifts a heavy hand to flick the end of Kíli’s hair. “What happened?”

Kíli reaches to touch it, flushing. “Orc caught hold of it in battle. Fíli tried to take his hand off, but he moved.”

“It will grow,” Bilbo offers.

“It will grow. Sleep well, Master Boggins.”

The next time Bilbo wakes, he feels heavy and hazy and lethargic. He has a vague impression that quite some time has passed since he was last awake, but he can't understand why until Kíli steps into his view and he sees the Dwarf's hair, now a good inch longer.

He has to try three times before he can say "Kíli." Kíli spins, seeming genuinely startled, and comes to hunker by the bed.

"Master Boggins," he whispers. Bilbo smiles exhaustedly, and Kíli returns it. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Weak. What has happened? I thought I was healing."

"We thought you were healing too," he agrees, standing to fetch a cup of water. To Bilbo's surprise he sits on the bed, propping Bilbo up against himself, and he does it with an air that tells Bilbo this isn't the first time he's done it. "The day after I told you of the Battle, you woke in fever. You spoke without making any sense, you tried to leave, you refused food and drink. You seemed very convinced we were trying to hurt you. Oin did what he could but the infection refused to be drawn, and we thought for a time you'd be lost to us."

"What happened?" Bilbo asks, astonished. He remembers none of this, not a moment of it.

Kíli lets him lie back down, meeting his gaze steadily. "I asked the Elves for help."

Bilbo frowns. “You asked…”

“No one else knows,” Kíli hurries to assure him. “Fíli, Oin and Ori, me. And the Elf I asked for help. She won’t tell anyone.”

“She,” Bilbo echoes. “Tauriel?”

Kíli frowns and then grins. “I forgot you were there in Mirkwood. Yes, Tauriel. She’s promised me she won’t say anything. Fíli tried to argue me out of it, but you were dying. I’m not sorry.” 

“Fíli’s well enough to argue?” Bilbo doesn’t address the other part. Obviously someone’s been poking at Kíli. He’s not going to take a side, though of course he’s glad to be alive.

Kíli grins, everything else forgotten. “Yes. He’s almost healed. He’s taken a lot of the ruling tasks from Balin and me.”

“How is Thorin?” Bilbo thinks he should probably feel ashamed that he hasn’t thought of him until now, but he doesn’t.

“Awake.” Kíli busies himself with something on the table by Bilbo’s bed. “The Elves say he will heal.”

Bilbo can’t decide how to react to that, so he doesn’t. Kíli flashes him a wry look. “Fíli will be here in a little while; he’ll give you the answers I promised. It’s his place.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bilbo’s tired, now, though he’s barely been awake five minutes. “He’ll heal; good.”

Kíli smiles again, more honestly. “Sleep if you want to. Tauriel said it would help.”

Bilbo drifts again, for a long time; he feels as though he’s done nothing else since he fell. He’s more aware of things around him this time, though; Ori, Fíli, and Kíli come and go, sometimes Oin, and once or twice the Elf Tauriel. She doesn’t talk to him much, but she’s kind and gentle and he believes Kíli was right to trust her.

Kíli is conspicuously not there whenever she is.

It happens to be Fíli who’s with him the afternoon he feels strong enough to sit up. It’s unusual; while Thorin heals, and to cover Kíli’s absences, Fíli has been spending most of his time with Balin, Dain and Bard, and the other leaders, trying to reform Erebor into a functioning society. Today, though, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, and Bilbo’s glad of it. Fíli looks tired – no, not tired, exactly. Worn down.

“Kíli says he hasn’t told you anything yet,” Fíli says abruptly, interrupting a very nice discussion of the best ales each has ever tasted.

Bilbo blinks. “He told me about the battle,” he says warily. “But if you mean Thorin, no. He said there was something to tell, but it was your place to tell it.”

“I suppose it is,” Fíli mutters. “Durin’s Heir. Have you ever heard of dragon sickness, Bilbo?”

Bilbo thinks carefully, because it’s obviously important. “No,” he decides finally. “I don’t believe I have.”

“No,” Fíli mutters. “Of course not, forgive me. It’s a term used among Dwarves for – “ He stands abruptly, pacing away.

“Fíli, you don’t need to…”

“Yes,” Fíli interrupts him. “I do need to; I think it may help to explain Thorin’s actions.”

Bilbo nods, resettling himself. “Then take your time, Fíli.”

It takes a moment, but he continues, “Dwarves seek gold and jewels and the treasures of the world; it’s how we were made. But sometimes, a Dwarf will become obsessed, will seek gold and jewels above all else, above all common sense, to the point of harming others if they deem it necessary. Durin’s line, our line, falls to this more often than any other, and especially where the Arkenstone is concerned; it drove Thorin’s grandfather mad, the stories say.” He takes a deep breath. Bilbo is silent. “This does not excuse Thorin’s actions; there is no excuse, and I will stand with you if you choose to seek recompense. But it is _why_ it happened.”

“It hasn’t happened to you,” Bilbo points out.

Fíli smiles briefly. “Kíli would kick my arse if I let it.”

“True.” Bilbo considers for a long time; Fíli lets him sit in silence, fiddling absently with the packets and bottles Oin and Tauriel have left on the table.

Finally Bilbo clears his throat and Fíli looks up to meet his eyes. “I would very much like to tell you I forgive Thorin. But I cannot, Fíli. Not – not yet. Maybe not ever. I am not angry at him, exactly. But when I think of him, I feel his blade at my belly and I see the emptiness in his eyes. I cannot face him.”

Fíli nods, looking sad but not particularly surprised. “You don’t need to face him. Not until you’re ready.”

Bilbo smiles at him, sinking back down. “I think I would like to rest.”

“I’ll go.”

“No,” Bilbo says quickly. If Fíli leaves, Bilbo knows very well that he’ll only start working again. “Tell me how the others are. What are they doing?”

Fíli eyes him, and Bilbo is quite sure he knows what he’s doing, but he goes along with it, talking quietly about Bofur and Gloin and Dwalin, and somewhere between Bifur and Dori Bilbo drifts off again.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, with Bilbo’s permission, Fíli and Kíli quietly widen the circle of Dwarves who know about him. Dori and Nori, Bofur and Bombur; they debate long and hard over Balin, and finally they tell him, counting on his having recognized the gold sickness in Thorin. Balin comes to talk to Bilbo, asks him to explain exactly what happened, and looks a good deal older when he finishes.

“Lad,” he says softly, “it’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Bilbo says automatically, and then frowns. “What is?”

“When you saw Thorin leaving, it’s because Dwalin and I were dragging him. I did not know you were there. Only that Thorin was standing unmoving and Smaug was approaching. If I had known, lad, I swear I would have been down there after you. All Thorin would say was that you were gone, that Smaug had taken you.”

“Smaug thought I wasn’t worth it,” Bilbo mutters. “Did Thorin try to fight you, Balin? To look for me? Did he make any effort?”

“No,” Balin admits, though it clearly pains him to do it.

Bilbo nods quietly. “No. I think I’m tired now, if you don’t mind.”

“Lad…”

“I’m tired,” he says, rather more firmly, and Balin is forced to withdraw.

After that Bilbo becomes - not withdrawn, exactly, but distant. He answers what questions he's asked, but he rarely asks any of his own, he doesn't start conversations, and the Dwarves often find him sitting, staring into space. His leg is healing, but slowly, delayed by his overall weakness, and he's not allowed to put any weight on it; he'd chafed at that at first, but now he simply sits. Fíli thinks, more than once, that without their urging he wouldn't lie down nor sit up, only stay wherever he happens to be.

Fíli talks to Ori and to Bofur, the two most likely to be able to get through to Bilbo, but both report that though Bilbo is still polite, it's a distant politeness, and fading every day. Balin hasn't tried to return, and with Fíli and Kíli Bilbo is short almost to the point of rudeness, frequently asking them to leave so he can rest. For all the rest he's getting, though, he looks terrible, pale and thin, dark circles under his eyes.

Fíli tries to ask Bilbo, but the Hobbit insists he's fine, only tired, and he'd like to rest now please. When Fíli tries to persist Bilbo just turns away, pulling his blanket around his shoulders and staring at the nearest wall.

In desperation Fíli goes to Balin, who tells him exactly what he told the Hobbit. "You know that if we'd known he was there," he pleads.

"I know," Fíli agrees. "If you hadn't gone after him, Dwalin certainly would have. I don't think he knows that, though." Balin shakes his head slowly, and Fíli adds, "He thinks we left him to die to save Thorin."

Fíli thinks long and hard about what to do next. He can see three plans; one is likely to end with Bilbo hating him. The others, though, are likely to end with Bilbo dead, and Fíli will take any amount of hate if Bilbo is alive to hate him.

So one evening, when no one else is around, Fíli leads his uncle to Bilbo’s room. He hasn’t warned either of them; that would go against his purpose. He mutters a prayer under his breath before opening the door and ushering Thorin inside.

Bilbo doesn’t look up when his door opens; he knows who it is. “I’m not hungry tonight, Ori. Thank you.”

There’s no answer, and he finally looks up. “Ori…”

It’s not Ori.

Bilbo is vaguely aware of Fíli closing the door and leaning against it, but most of his attention is locked on Thorin. Pain spikes in his stomach and he finds himself looking down to make sure he hasn’t been injured.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathes. “No. You’re…you fell.”

“Fell,” Bilbo repeats, feeling faint. Thorin comes towards him, too quickly, and Bilbo pulls back.

“Uncle,” Fíli says, low and warning. Thorin glances back at him, frowning, and Fíli adds, “Bilbo is injured. Don’t touch him.”

Thorin turns back to Bilbo, really looking at him this time. “Are you ill, Bilbo?”

Bilbo looks past him to Fíli. “You are cruel, Master Fíli.”

“And you’re dying, locked away in here,” Fíli answers evenly.

“Bilbo,” Thorin pleads.

“I am not dying,” Bilbo says over him, clearly doing his best to ignore him. “And I will speak no further while _he_ is here.”

Fíli glances at Thorin, who looks bewildered. “Uncle…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin cuts him off. “What is wrong?”

“Uncle,” Fíli says again.

“What is wrong?” Bilbo repeats. “What is wrong is that you tried to kill me! And then you left me for dead!”

“No,” Thorin says blankly. “No, Bilbo, you fell.”

Bilbo has to touch his stomach again, the pain is so real. “I did not fall, Oakenshield. I was pushed. _You_ forced me over the edge, you and the search for that bloody Arkenstone! If I’d had it I’d sooner have thrown it over the battlements than give it to you!”

“I…no, Bilbo. I didn’t…”

Bilbo glances around, scoops up his sword and tugs it awkwardly out of the sheath. Thorin freezes, standing very very still as Bilbo presses the flat of the blade against his chest; his weight is lopsided because of his leg, but he’ll make his point.

“I tried to leave,” he says, eyes very bright. “To escape from Smaug. You wouldn’t let me.” He turns the blade, edge on to Thorin, aware that Fíli is watching through narrowed eyes. “You wanted that damn stone.” He puts a little weight on the blade, and Thorin rocks backwards; he presses harder and Thorin retreats, one step and then another.

Fíli steps in and Bilbo lets go of the hilt, watching disinterestedly as Fíli catches it in mid air without even looking at it. “And then I fell,” he murmurs. “And you watched, and I was still falling when you _left_ , Thorin. You _left_ me there to _die_!”

“Smaug took you,” Thorin says numbly.

“Smaug was nowhere near me when you left.” Bilbo sways and Fíli steadies him with one hand, warning Thorin off with the other. “Smaug decided I wasn’t worth killing. It amused him to leave me alive to suffer. Only that Fíli fell over me in the treasury I’d have bled to death there. Because of you and your stupid Stone.” He turns to Fíli. “As soon as I can travel I want to leave.”

“When Oin is happy you’re well enough,” Fíli agrees.

“Your word on it,” Bilbo demands, suddenly terrified that they’ll try to keep him.

“I’ll take you myself, Bilbo. My word on it.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin says suddenly.

Bilbo spares him a glance before looking back at Fíli. “Please take him away.”

“Are you sure?” Fíli asks softly. “Bilbo…”

Bilbo touches his stomach again. “Please.”

Fíli nods, turning to Thorin. “Come. Bilbo needs to rest.”

“I need to speak with him. Wait outside, Fíli.”

“No,” Bilbo says sharply.

Fíli looks from one to the other before shaking his head reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I gave my word to Bilbo. I can’t break it, even for you.”

Thorin grits his jaw before turning to Bilbo. “I wish to…”

“I wish you to leave,” Bilbo says over him. “I don’t care to hear anything you have to say.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin tries again.

Bilbo stands, shakily, limping towards his door. Fíli watches without moving to stop him; Thorin shifts in place. By the time Bilbo reaches the door, it feels as though he’s walking on knife blades, but he reaches for the handle anyway.

“Bilbo,” Fíli says finally.

“If he will not leave, I will.” Bilbo’s cloak is next to the door, and he grabs for it. “Take me home, Fíli.”

“You can’t travel…”

“I can’t stay here either!”

To his horror, there’s hysteria in his tone. Bilbo squeezes his eyes shut, forcing a deep breath.

Fíli touches his arm, guiding him back into the room. Bilbo goes with him, too tired to fight. “Fíli,” he breathes.

“I know,” Fíli agrees. “I’ll make sure.” Bilbo stumbles and Fíli picks him up, settling him back on the bed. He turns to Thorin. “Time to go, Uncle.”

“Fíli,” Thorin protests.

“He’ll walk out of here to avoid you and die on the slopes of Erebor, Uncle, assuming he makes it that far. Leave him be. Come on.” He urges Thorin out, closing the door firmly behind them.

A little later it reopens and Kíli comes in, looking puzzled. “Fíli said I should come and make sure no one was bothering you,” he says with a frown. “Who could be bothering you?”

“Fíli brought Thorin here,” Bilbo tells him, and then rolls over and stares at the wall in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Bofur all but drags Fíli to Bilbo’s room late the next day. “He’s not eaten or spoken since yesterday,” the miner tells him.

“That’s because I tried to fix things,” Fíli protests. “Someone else should…”

“He isn’t listening to anyone.”

“Then he probably won’t listen to me.”

Bofur shoves him through Bilbo’s door. Fíli sighs, glancing around. Bilbo is sitting huddled by the fire, leg awkwardly outstretched in front of him. He looks up at Fíli’s entrance.

“Oin thinks I set it back by walking on it yesterday,” he says conversationally.

“It may not have been your wisest decision,” Fíli agrees, settling carefully on the other side of the hearth.

Bilbo studies him. “You promised me,” he says softly.

“Yes,” Fíli agrees.

“You brought him here.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because every other path I could see ended in your death,” Fíli says evenly. “You were wasting away up here, Bilbo, and sending you home as you are would be worse. If you wish to be angry at me, or hate me, that’s fine.”

“I told you I couldn’t face him.”

“And yet you did. You faced him, and you sent him away.”

“You sent him away.”

“He was sent away,” Fíli amends, and grins victoriously at Bilbo’s smile, weak though it is.

The smile falls away, though, and Bilbo murmurs, “He hasn’t tried to come back.”

“That’s because we haven’t allowed him,” Fíli assures him. “He keeps trying to get around us. He wants to see you, Bilbo, but it will be when you’re ready and not before. I did give you my word.”

“I’m so angry, Fíli,” Bilbo whispers. “I hate feeling this way. Most un-Hobbit like.”

Fíli smiles. “You are most un-Hobbit like, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo grimaces, sitting up. “I hope not. It is Hobbit like to face what scares you.”

“I’m quite sure no people do it better,” Fíli says sincerely.

“Mostly what scares Hobbits is running out of food. I will see him. Tomorrow.”

“After you’ve eaten,” Fíli agrees. “And cleaned up. I’ll ask Ori to help you.”

“Oh, is it unprincely?” Bilbo looks away, badly feigning hurt feelings.

“Extremely,” Fíli says airily. “Lowering oneself to helping someone else? I thought you knew the House of Durin better than that by now.” More seriously, he adds, “I thought you might prefer Ori.”

“I don’t want to put anyone out. I’m quite able to clean myself.”

Fíli looks pointedly at the leg stretched between them. “If I allow you to put any weight on that, I’m quite sure Oin will have me flayed, prince or not. I’ll go and make the arrangements. Don’t move.”

Bilbo makes a face at him for that joke, but he accepts Fíli's help to clean up, and he eats at least some of what Bombur brings. It's a step, a good step, and Fíli's glad of it.

Bilbo quietly asks him to make sure someone else is present when Thorin comes, and Fíli plans to come himself, but as it turns out he's busy. He sends Kíli along instead and makes him promise not to leave Thorin alone with Bilbo. It's the best he can do for both of them.

Bilbo glances up at the knock on his door. Kíli's been showing him a surprisingly complicated Dwarven game of chance, but now he gathers up the tokens and retreats to stand by the fire, eyes dark and watchful. Bilbo sits up straight as Thorin comes in.

Thorin looks as though he's actually in pain as he approaches Bilbo, stopping just out of arms' reach. "Bilbo," he says awkwardly. "How do you fare?"

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. "I _fare_ as well as anyone with a broken leg, I suppose." He deliberately doesn't ask after Thorin's own health. 

Thorin glances at Kíli, clearly uncomfortable with his presence, but he makes no attempt to get rid of him, looking back at Bilbo. "I remember little of what you've told me happened," he says quietly. "Balin tells me he and Dwalin took me from the treasury without seeing you. I don't remember, Bilbo. All I can tell you is that if I'd known, if I'd seen..."

"You did see," Bilbo interrupts him. "You watched me fall, Thorin." He's holding his stomach again, though more out of habit, now. "You didn't push me. I will give you that. But you caused it nonetheless; that blasted stone adled your wits until you thought I had stolen it."

"Bard has the Stone now," Thorin tells him. "He and his decendants will hold it as a symbol of the friendship between Erebor and Dale. That does not change what has happened. But know that I will never allow it to happen again."

Bilbo catches the brief movement from Kíli, though the younger Dwarf doesn't speak. "I thought the Arkenstone was your symbol of rule," Bilbo says slowly. "How will you hold your throne?"

"I'll worry about that when someone tries to take me from it. The Arkenstone is a symbol of my failings. I will not forget it." Thorin moves as though to touch him and then draws back again. "I hope that you will stay here, Master Hobbit, when you're healed. But should you choose to go home, you will have what you need, and there will always be a place here for you. And I hope you will remember that I would never knowingly cause harm to you, and I regret very much that this has happened. I will not come to you again unless I am called." He half bows, turning away to leave.

"Thorin," Bilbo says on impulse, and then glances around rather desperately for inspiration. "Kíli was trying to teach me this game, but I'm not quite getting it. Perhaps you could try?" Thorin nods, eyes shining with something that might be hope; Bilbo adds "Please stay," to Kíli, who nods quickly, pulling a table over and beginning to lay out the pieces.

It's a beginning. Bilbo doesn't know where it might lead; but wherever it goes, he will know that he was strong enough to take this step.

Kíli finishes with the pieces and looks up. "You first, Master Boggins."

He makes his move.


End file.
